


your body, (draped in crimson)

by bruised_ppeach



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: (later on), 1920's AU, Brent is a detective, Drunk Sex, Eugene has Depression, Explicit Sex Scene(s), F/M, Inequality cause of the time period, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, descriptive death scenes, drug/alcohol use, ryan is a prostitute, semi-major character death?, serial killer au, shayn is the main ship though, sorry abt this i was inspired by the moulin rogue soundtrack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruised_ppeach/pseuds/bruised_ppeach
Summary: Ryan Bergara would walk along the damp street at night, basked under the light of the moon. Inside his home, he basks in the vibrant red color that beckons strangers to his door. And someone from the shadows watches that light flicker on, every single night; But never dare do they approach it.(Where Ryan is a prostitute in the 1920's, and someone from his past becomes his secret admirer.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After learning bits and pieces about the early 1920's in a class I'm taking, I could finally piece together this idea I've had for quite a while!!  
> This work is inspired by, but not at all directly related to Moulin Rogue, because I love the aesthetic of that film and it's soundtrack. 
> 
> Now I'm not a GREAT writer, so updating this is going to be quite slow, since I want the chapters to be long, detailed, and enjoyable, but I hope it's worth the read!
> 
> Because Ryan is a "street walker" in this AU, there's a couple pairings in the tags, but this fic is supposed to be Shane/Ryan centered. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I have writing it!!

You get used to living like this.

The red light that poured across his skin and flickered in his eyes, before it used to give him migraines; and now, he realised that the intimidating color no longer bothered him. The strangers that bit his lips and tore at his clothes, his skin, leaving goosebumps and red or purple marks within their wake, it wasn't awful anymore. It was normal. It was fine, and everything always ended up going his way in the end. Almost.  
There were a few nights, a few people, who he never hopes to see again. Who have taken more than he offered, who were greedy and pushy and sometimes, completely terrifying. It wasn't _uncommon_ to be treated lesser, like you are no longer a human being just because you allow others to put themselves into you, or onto you. Giving yourself to a stranger should be considered brave in Ryan's eyes, but instead you are seen as an object. It's not uncommon, but that doesn't make it any _better._

Still, Ryan Bergara, every week night at 10pm, would walk off of the damp street and into his small apartment building. Flickering on the ruby red light nestled on the wall so it could be seen out of his window, out to the balcony of his room, and let it light up the night like a fire work, beckoning any lonely soul out there to come forward and empty their pockets for a night of warmth in the arms of a prostitute. 

It's not a bad way to get money, not really. Despite having to be wary of those coming by hoping to find a female instead, he usually allows whoever knocks on his door to enter his home and bedroom, to share his sweat and his sheets for a handful of cash. They leave before the sun rises, and all is well. 

Women, he notes, are usually much more respectable, in the sense that they treat him like a human being. Although they ogle at him like a piece of meat at the start, and they touch him in ways most mannered women wouldn't dare to, they always look back before they go, and give him a smile and a thank you. It's only polite, after all. Ryan finds that he enjoys his time with them more then with most men. Because they'll idly talk afterwards, offer him a bit of conversation he doesn't get in his usual life, when on the other side of the coin men are too awkward to speak or they just leave him without a word. Not like he minds that much, but it's. It's nice, to speak about something once in a while, that doesn't involve how much you'll cost that evening. 

He speaks to people who aren't customers too, of course. Other's that are on the same boat as him. They're desperate for cash, most doing anything to get it; most of them being girls in their early twenties or even late teens. Almost none of them talk about their home life, what they've done in the past, where they come from, and Ryan knows not one of his fellow night walkers last names. They simply exist in the same place, the same shady side of town where the fine lights of the new urbanized world don't touch them. They can see it shining, off in the distance, if they care to look, but most are far too busy once night time comes to notice it's beauty. And they probably think they're undeserving of it, anyway. 

America, the land of opportunities. The land of new invention, new life styles, new hopes. More like the land of the rich or forgotten, Ryan thinks bitterly. You either make it big, and get to walk down those lit up streets with stars in your eyes and jazz playing lively in your ears, or you fall flat into the concrete and get trampled by the unforgiving crowd. You end up here, in the slums, not a hint of magic within these alley's unless you go looking for it, in the form of cheap illegal booze or red lights in windows. In these streets, people are dirty - they're untouched by the wealth that has spread through America's cities in favor of fueling the industries this new nation represents itself as. Laws are tainted on this side of the world, because the rest of the world has decided to ignore them. And yet they can make it on their own, somehow, just like this. With little red window lights and tiny communities of neighbors who don't even know eachother. At least for now.

At least for now.

 

\- 

 

Sometimes, exciting things _do_ happen. People will come by from the nicer towns, breezing through to experience life when you're living on the very edge. Some people have friends that live less valued lives, and thus will come visit them on this side of the planet, a foreign place to the usual outsider. Ryan will stand on the street corner, laughing and talking with the girls (and few men) about the overly-dressed men that are walking by and whistling like the ladies are their eye candy. They call back at them, lifting their skirts as if showing interest, but Ryan can see the fires in their eyes and know how the action is less to impress the rich, but more to empower themselves. 'These strange men, coming from a place of fantasy, they know nothing of us or our lives. They look at us and think we are easy, but in reality, we own these streets they stand on.'

The difference between the big bright stretches of land carrying sky scrapers, and the dirt holding up the slums, is that the people here own the dirt. In the flourishing, bustling cityscape away from them, the land is owned by whichever mob or baron has the most cash and the most men to fill up a few blocks. That land is seperated, and ours is whole. Our acceptance of the unknown is what makes us both divided and united, in the same breath - a tight knit town of strangers who would die for one another, verus the catty corrupt community of the rich and disposable. It's laughable. It's _ironic._

Because _we_ are the disposable, thrown into the gutters, and they laugh and roll cigars filled with cocaine and dollar bills, just for the fun of it.

It's not as if they never envy that life, or daydream about one day making it to that glittery, golden paved road that will take them to a better future. Ryan has, a countless number of times. A high rise penthouse in Time square, a sleek and lovely car, driven by a chauffeur with a clean white moustache and a pair of thin glasses on his nose. The one who greets him every morning is his maid, young and soft and lovely, and the one who cooks his meals is his butler, a gentle and quiet man with a cleaning tick. Every person in these slums has their own little fantasy, of their own penthouse, their own maid, their own car and their own future, molded by the wonders of something unreachable. By the end of the day, they always fall back to Earth, and into their cold mattresses and thin pajamas.

When exciting things _do_ happen, it spreads fast and it spreads quiet, like smoke in a windy field. A man and his wife will arrive on one side of the slums, in their custom mobile and carrying their tiny toy doggy like a hand bag, and in a matter of minutes, it seems, the other side is already aware of exactly who these people are. It's fascinating, and dangerous, and it's one of the charms of this otherwise horrifying place. Ryan sees beauty in connection, to other humans, to the unknown, and thus it excites him when new figures appear in their secluded part of this region. 

Unfortunately, crime was a problem here, and never really taken care of. People would be killed, women assaulted, children and belongings would be stolen, and nobody wise would ever bat an eye. No rukus, or you'll just risk something worse happening to yourself. 

Until recently, at least. On a crisp June morning, when the sky was still grey in its attempt to wake the world, a train rolled by and dropped off a man; early thirties or late twenties, in a brown hat and matching trenchcoat. He had a full beard and mischievous looking eyes, like he was scanning the land for trouble and _enjoying_ it. This what he heard, about thirty minutes ago while lounging by a street corner with his company. The girls would laugh, or get excited with gossip amongst eachother, but the boys only lit their cigarettes and stayed quiet.  
When he finally saw the man in the flesh, well. He wasn't much to look at, but a plethora to observe. Trying to remain steady on the outside did not keep Ryan from seeing his initial excitement; like a child, Ryan huffed. Getting bouncy over... what is it? Why was he here exactly?

"Hello, ladies and gents," the man began as he strode toward Ryan and his group, catching his eye. "I'm detective Bennett, and there has been a string of reoccurring murders in this area for the past three months. If I could take some of your time, I'd like to ask a few questions of you... Lovely samaritans." He eyed them curiously, but - attempted - to remain professional. His eyes met Ryan's briefly, before darting to the other members of the group.

"Plenty of people die here. Nobody's done shit about it."  
The first one to speak up was short and sassy girl, uninterested, and smoking her cigarette like it was something better to do. She only met the eyes of the detective to give him a judgemental glare.  
"Well, Ma'am, I'm here to change that." Detective Bennett said matter-of-factly, lips tight. He pulled out a notepad and a pencil from his trenchcoat and flipped it open, prepared to write down whatever they had to say.  
After a stretch of silence and a bit of murmuring, Ryan finally decided to speak up. "Who all died, detective?" 

Bennett turned his head towards Ryan so fast he could have gotten whip lash. Eyes wide, he straightened his glasses and swallowed, flipping through his notes hurriedly.  
"The murders, um- the murders of these four people appear to be connected, see... That's why I'm here. If a killer is on the rise, even in this community-"  
" _Even_ in _this_ community?" 

It's the short girl again. She rolls her eyes with a noise of disgust, flicking her cig and stomping it out with her pointed heel. " _Even_ in _this_ community... _Nobody_ in your stance cares about this place. You're just here to make sure we're all in line and won't go tred into your territory with our "bad vibes" and "criminal instinct." For the love of..."

Her voice hissed like a viper, vemonous and sharp like a knife. She turned on her heel and stormed away, a few concerned ladies trailing after her. Bennet cleared his throat with a frown.

"...Anyways. Who was that woman?"

"Jen." Ryan spoke up quickly, and he sounded cross. "But don't go poking into her business, please. I can assure you you won't have a good time doing it."

Defending his colleague was all he could think of at that second, but once the detective laid his eyes on Ryan, he immediately regretted speaking, and tilted his head to look at his shoes and stutter out an apology. Anxiety hit him like a train off it's tracks and he didn't look back up, even when he heard the other man chuckle.

"It's... It's quite alright! Don't be so ashamed, um... What is your name?"

Ryan exhaled, and straightened himself with red cheeks. "Ryan Bergara."

"And where do you live, Ryan?"

That's when he chewed his lip nervously. Ryan was unsure if the detective knew about it, the set of three story tenant houses down a strip of roads reserved for those who worked under the red glow at midnight; a street infamously known for holding prostitutes. Bennett was foriegn to this place, it seemed, but he dared not risk it. So he lied. 

"I... Live a block away from here. By the well in the intersection."

Bennett grinned at Ryan, before gesturing with both arms towards him with a shy look in his eyes, palm spread flat and facing up.

"Then, um. May I escort you there? I can tell you more about the case... On the way."

Oh. Ryan's face flushed, and he knew he didn't have to look behind him to see that his companions were snickering, cat-like smirks on their face at the sudden offer. It was honestly more out of embarrassment than flattery that he blushed, feeling all eyes from the street on him and the detective.

He accepted the offer anyway. Reluctantly taking the other man's arm, he was guided through the streets he knew so well until he was "home".  
As the detective tipped his hat, a gentle smile on his pink cheeks as he turned to leave, Ryan waved, and felt himself release a heavy sigh as he rubbed his forehead. 

Privileged, reckless, childish. Those were the thoughts running through his head when he imagined detective Bennet in his mind. _Kind. Interesting. Clever._

 

He found himself forgetting about the visitor within a few hours, his arms wrapped around a naked feminine body in the comfort of his mattress, both of them draped in a familiar carmine light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder, another visit, another day dream.
> 
>  
> 
> (there's a sex scene in this one folks just fyi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW im just pumping these out. I already have part of chapter 3 done too.  
> I hope you enjoy this part !!

_The world has never been kind to me._  
_Yet...  
_ _Life has never felt so wonderful._

_Never had I thought that a single minute of my time would alter everything. As I locked eyes with a beautiful stranger, the sweetest face I've ever seen graced my world. A warmth I've never known had suddenly enveloped me, like the warm fleece blanket and hot bowl of soup he had handed me, to shield me from the freezing cold; the first act of kindness I've ever received, and it was wrapped in a golden bow with a blinding smile on the top._

_My gloved hands were trembling, I didn't think I could breathe ever again. You've stolen the lungs from my chest with your kind brown eyes and fluttering lashes as you spoke nervously to me. I couldn't hear a word through the sound of my heartbeat, yet your voice was like music._

_As you walked away, my gaze followed your figure, for as long as you remained visible._

_The world has never been kind to me,_  
_until you appeared and completely_  
_changed it._

\- 

 

Ryan found himself wondering about unreachable things once more, during a particularly warm afternoon as he sat and surveyed the world from the steps of his tenant building. 

Most of the wondering was the regular, dreamy and starry eyed thoughts he had whenever something _exotic_ caught his eyes. Something from the glittery world of the Uptown city; a sleek car driving by, the men and women in the seats wearing silk and furs that seemed just as soft as they were beautiful, and he imagined himself wearing them. A man on horseback with blankets piled onto his back, all different kinds of materials he could only dream touching himself. The kind of life in modernized America; what was it like? The advertisements, the rumours, he's heard them all. But to really live in that lap of luxury, it must be filled to the brim of unseen possibilities that someone of his social class couldn't reach with a two hundred foot pole. Even the innocent chimes in the back of his mind, whispering "one day" seemed to be imaginary, unattainable. A child's fantasy.

Facing the reality of it all, he knew he would never reach that far off stretch of land with foretold wonder. Only a fool in his shoes would pursue it, would walk the miles that seperated them from being in a dirty slum, a filthy commoner, to reaching those penthouses way up in the sky with fresh and innocent eyes.  
Or maybe someone smart would go the lengths they desired; but Ryan was neither a fool nor was he smart. An average man mentally. Below average socially. Bottom-of-the-barrel to America's standards. You were either white and male, or you were dependent on _something_ or _someone_ else to take care of you. Immagrants like him were tossed to the side to make way for the next Fat Cat sitting on a pile of wealth and privilege. A single rich man was worth more than his entire slum, his entire community combined.

What luck, for him to be born into these circumstances, in this world. Ryan's thoughts began to turn bitter, and he had to find some kind of way to distract himself from it all.

Standing up with a huff, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the nearby empty street. Children in rags played and ran across the cobblestone roads, every so often a horse pulling a carriage would go by with the steady _clomp clomp_ of their hooves. The sound was relaxing, and one of Ryan's favorite things to listen to as he rested his head at night. 

As he wandered, so did his thoughts, once more and ever the distraction. He began to think about his encounter with the detective two days ago. Detective Bennett, the childish yet seemingly well put together man from the other side of the world, it seemed. He's solving crimes in the slums for... What reason, exactly?  
Jen was less than fond of him, he remembered, as he caught wind of her chattering about him the other day to a few gossipy vamps. In her eyes, he was only doing this to protect the area which he lived. Which, Ryan could see that as a reason. Profit, a good image as well. But what's to gain, from saving a few dirty peasant lives living in tenant houses on a shit-filled street corner? There's nothing there for you except your own sense of heroism, he finally decided. And Bennett seemed like the type of person who enjoyed that sort of feeling.

Judging from the short interaction they had, and the bit of awkward walking "home" they did, he really didn't expect to see the excitable detective again.

But, as fate would have it, the sound of a car horn honking caught his attention, and when he turned his head he was met with the smiling detectives face sticking out of his vehicle window.

"Ryan Bergara! Come with me! There's something I need to show you."

His voice and expression mellowed at the last line, suddenly serious, but still with an edge of light heartedness. Ryan smiled nervously as he approached the car, and Bennett got out of his own seat to open the door for Ryan, a kind but slightly embarrassing gesture. He felt all the eyes of the street on him once more watching from windows, doorways, and sidewalks, and he felt the desire to shrink back into nothingness and hide from the world's view. Bennett seemed entirely unaffected, getting into the drivers seat once more and starting the engine. He gave Ryan another smile.

"Where are you taking me, detective Bennett?"  
He responded with a light laugh. "Oh, no need for the formalities still, although I do like the way it sounds. My name is Brent Bennett. Just call me Brent, okay? Only call me detective if I'm trying to look cool in front if the police."

Ryan grinned at that with a soft wheeze, looking past Brent and out the window, to the world whizzing past. Everything looked so different as it faded to the background in a blurr of movement, and the wind against his face felt... Clean. It felt wonderful.  
Brent began speaking again.

"I noticed you were interested in the case I was taking up, so I thought, you know. Maybe I could bring you along to my work place and talk more about it. And then another murder happened, and... After doing a few tests to see if it was related to the case... It was. So if you aren't bothered by it, I want to take you. To the body."

Ryan's eyes widened at that, and he whipped his head around to face Brent again, who was gazing at Ryan eagerly out of the corner of his eye in an attempt to be subtle.

"What? Are... Are you sure that's appropriate? Wouldn't that be unprofessional? Or... Suspicious?"

"I honestly doubt they'll mind. It's only me and a couple of hardworking guys who are on this case, because... Well, you know. The police aren't exactly the most helpful."

Brent sounded bitter at the end of his ramble, mouth lopsided and obviously displeased by the way he gripped the steering wheel. Ryan watched him with new eyes. Curious of his thoughts and behavior, and drawn more and more towards the man who appeared on his path just from hopping out of a train one day. A man who seeked to help those who were more unfortunate than himself. 

Ryan wanted to learn more. 

They had already arrived to the scene of the crime; several makeshift "officers" were surrounding a body, sprawled on the ground with a blanket thrown over top of it to shield it's face. The feet were still sticking out from under the short fabric, well dressed, but worn out leather shoes were visible. Ryan carefully eyed his surroundings as he walked a ways behind the detective, in case he was spotted and told to leave. 

The "officers" at the scene were well dressed, but - obviously not officials. They wore button ups and regular civilian coats, fine slacks and polished shoes, but they were mostly all young men, with bright eyes and a lack of sternness that you see in a regular police officer. All save for one older man, with a mustache and cap, who was much much taller than the rest of the crowd. He didn't bother to look up when Ryan and Brent approached, but the others whipped around and came forward in quick strides. 

"Brent- I mean, Detective. We've been waiting for you to come back. We have to take the body to Sara's and- Who are you?"

The young man was suddenly cut off as he noticed Ryan was there. Brent smiled and gestured towards his guest.

"This is Ryan Bergara. He was rather interested in this case, and I brought him here in hopes of adding another member to our forces." Ah. So that was it. Not like Ryan minded, much.

The other seemed to brighten at that immediately, giving Ryan an innocent and hopeful smile to show his excitement. "Ryan...! Oh, thank goodness, we do need more members. But, ah, lets not get too excited, now. Brent, we need you to look at..."

"Yes, I know. Let me show Ryan first."

Brent turned towards him with a deep inhale. "This won't be pretty, just so you know."

"I live in a shanty town that's covered in mud and shit, Brent. Nothing is pretty there."

One of the older men in the group smirked and chuckled, trying to hide it by wiping their face. Brent just smiles.

"Nothing except for you."

The cheesey form of flattery made Ryan scoff, but he blushed nonetheless.

The other men surrounding the body allowed the two to pass through to get a look. Ryan wondered briefly what kind of person would be under there, and how they died. The puddle of dried blood that seeped out from under the blanket onto the concrete peaked his curiousity. 

But the second Brent tore off the white sheet from the victims face, his body went cold. 

 

\- 

_Just as Ryan was about to leave his apartment, opening the door to walk down the shaky steps, he almost bumped face first into the man in front of him. When he tilted his head up to apologise, he was met with probably the most gorgeous features he's ever seen._

_Squared jaw, messy dark hair, and stunning black eyes that held worlds of secrets. With just a firm gaze, Ryan felt himself swooning internally, and he quickly added distance between them although he yearned to do the opposite._

_"H-Hello-" Ryan began, unsure of how to confront this man - he temporarily forgot the implications of him being here in the first place - and then he cut Ryan off by speaking._

_"I saw your light."_

_Oh God, that voice. A few simple words of confirmation, and Ryan hurriedly gave the man access inside his home. One bedroom, and it was all he really needed. The man seemed indifferent._

_As the stranger paced inside the room, Ryan shut the door and couldn't help but observe him eagerly. He was dressed in simple white button up and rolled up sleeves, to the elbow, showing a fine line of arm muscle. Comfortable looking slacks and leather shoes. Casual, and increasingly attractive with every glance he threw at Ryan._

_There was something about those eyes._

_The man was shrouded in mystery, an alluring facade that Ryan would love to peel back slowly, just like how he planned to undress him soon enough. He looked as though he held secrets. Dark ones, behind all those layers of pent up emotion._

_As the stranger stopped pacing the room and caught Ryan's eyes, holding his gaze in place like vice, he finally gestured towards the bed between them. Ryan easily obliged._

_As soon as the strangers pants were below his waist, and Ryan's own clothes were thrown across the floor, they got started._

_-_

_It was passionate, fast,_ deep. _After an array of adventurous positions, Ryan finally began to feel the other man unwind while his legs squeezed and wrapped around his waist, and he bounced ontop of the strangers cock with enough momentum to shake the bed. He had a firm hold of Ryan's ass with both hands, guiding him up and down at a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin deafeningly loud. Ryan listened intently to the beautiful huffs and groans coming from the lips of his partner, and finally leaned down to capture them in a kiss. He swallowed the delicious moans and in return, gave some of his own._

_In a single quick and heated moment, the mans hips jutted off of the bed as the thrust into Ryan with a primal growl, throwing his head back and clenching his teeth. Ryan gasped as he felt his cock twitch and spurt inside of him, touching himself to collapse over the edge too._

_Once they both relaxed, bodies no longer spasming from orgasm, Ryan pulled himself away first. He usually gave the clients the room they deserved after such an experience, unless they ask otherwise. This one seemed happy with the separation._

_He merely buttoned himself back up, sat on the edge of the bed beside Ryan's horizontal body, and lit a cigarette. Puffs of grey smoke fluttered softly from his spit-slicked lips, and the spent look in his eyes was once again replaced with his furrowed brow and hard expression. Guarded once more, after letting himself go in the hot pursuit of sex. Ryan watched him with unsated curiousity and dared to imagine what this man has gone through, to put up a barrier so thick that he won't even lower it in the presence of a stranger._

_The ruby red light failed to conceal the tired, dark bags under his eyes._

\- 

 

Ryan couldn't hear any of the words Brent was saying.

"Eugene Lee Yang. Thirty one, a Korean immigrant. He came to America by himself in search for a job, in hopes of bringing his father and two sisters along once he had the money."

"And you heard all of this from his tenant mates?" Brent asked the member speaking.

"Yes, the three of them he lived with. They didn't know him well, but they knew him better than most. They were the best people to question for this case, since none of his coworkers even knew him by name. They called him "Lee"."

"And how did he die?" One of the other members turned and questioned Brent.

"Two- No. Three axe wounds. Two on the chest, one on his back. I'm assuming he was hit from behind first, fell backwards, and then was struck two more times."

There was a pause of respect for the dead.  
"Is there anything else you can tell us about Mister Lee?" They focused their attention on the one who interviewed the civilians.

"Well. The people in his tenant were highly aware of how he felt about his social stance. No matter how intelligent he was, how hard he worked, how much he risked, he was never promoted. Never noticed, never nothing. Always got the short end of the stick. It infuriated him."

"...Yeah, but," Brent began, slowly shaking his head. "That's immigrants for you. They never accept what gifts their given."

A few of the men nodded, and the others gave eachother glances. Ryan could do nothing but stare.

Stare into the face of the stranger he slept with three days prior. Dead and cold on the concrete floor.

-

When Brent finally took Ryan home, he felt numb. Nothing. He rushed to the corner of the street and threw up in the gutter.

Numb. Nothing. Numb. Nothing.

Eugene's blood-stained shirt remained in his mind as he tried to sleep that night, in the very bed he shared with him, the man he now saw to be dead.

 

Dark, forlorn eyes. The smell of cigarette smoke. They followed him into his dreams and stayed there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan finds himself much deeper in this case than he ever intended to be, when a member of the team is put in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, I'm afraid this chapter may not be as exciting as I planned it out to be. the holidays kept me from writing and i had another terrible writers rut when i tried to get back into it. i really hope this doesn't hinder your reading experience - and i promise the next chapter will be much better!

_Finding a suitable person to dispose of who lived in the nicer houses a few miles down wasn't a hard task._

_He was an old man, an introvert who nobody knew personally, hardly any knew he even existed. All I had to do was sneak in and suffocate him in his sleep. He hardly struggled. It was a peaceful death._

_When the woman next door caught me leaving the house, I told her I was his son. That he was deathly ill, and passed away in the night. She believed me easily, and sent her condolences. I quickly made arrangements to live there myself, and getting rid of the body seemed to be no problem._

_I didn't feel too bad about this one. He was old, anyway, probably had no friends. Might as well pass on now. He doesn't know it, but he gave his house to a poor homeless man, and that should make him feel good enough in the after life._

_I began to make use of what he owned as soon as I could. I've never lived in such a place, it felt like the luxuries were endless in comparison to how I lived life before. A warm bed, a stash of money, hell. I never learned to read well, but there were books. That was something to do._

_I shaved clean and washed up, changed into clothes that would suit_ me _now. The new version of myself was coming together._

_Now it's time to deal with that charismatic factory worker._

 

\- 

 

The good thing about living in an area as flat as this, was that through the smog of the nearby city, the beautiful sun rise was visible and vibrant. Oranges, pinks, the darkness of the sky slowly fading to grey as time went on. On the rare occasions where Ryan _did_ wake up earlier in the morning, he took a few moments to himself to enjoy the beautiful sky out on his balcony. 

_If this landscape had a value within numbers, it would cost a fortune._

Ryan was thankful, in that moment, that some of the greatest and most beautiful things in life were free.

But the greatest and most beautiful things won't give me a sustainable life, his mind bitterly reminds him. _I can't even admire a sunrise without ruining it for myself._

Instead of mulling even more on disappointing things, he chose to wander back to his bed and cozy himself underneath the layers of sheets and thin blankets. The soft worn material graced his skin and he sighed happily, curling his legs and arms close to his chest to allow his body heat to spread and shield him from the cold. He was still quite alert, in no state of mind to sleep once again, but he still shut his eyes in hopes of forcing himself into subconsciousness.

Instead, Ryan traced his thoughts back to the day before, when he met Sara Rubin for the first time. 

Sara... was a wonderful woman. Incredibly bright, and she knew it. Although modest, she was certainly aware of her intelligence, with the way she confidently mouthed back to Brent and the other members of their little team. Ryan _would_ describe her as a flapper, if only she wore more makeup and chopped off the rest of her hair. And he was quite fond of her for that very reason; rebellious women always succeeded in lighting a fire in him, that silently cheers them on. Being treated poorly was something he was familiar with, so seeing girls become brave in the face of a man, their main oppressor... It brought a smile to his face watching Sara shut them down, to say the least.

As for her role in the little detective agency, Sara Rubin was the one who took the dead bodies of the crime scene and examined them, looking for anything the detective and his gang might have missed. Then, she often prepared them to be buried with a simple funeral service, inviting the family and friends of the victim to attend. "Forensic pathologist" is the term she used, and she sure had a strange obsession with the dead.

_"How the... everliving hell do you take dead bodies off of the street and into your home without anyone caring?" Ryan asked her the day they had met; she was still on the case of Eugene Lee Yang, his body stored somewhere within her house, but thank god he didn't have to see the familiar victim a second time._

_Sara merely raised her eyebrows and smiled at Ryan, pulling off a pair of used gloves. "Honey, the police don't care. I'm sure you out of all of us would know that. We might be trying to do good, but that doesn't matter to the cops. Good or bad, they won't bat an eye or lend a hand." She began capping glass bottles and placing them in order on the shelves in front of her. "These are the times we live in, and thus we're taking a step up as the underdogs to help when no one else will. If law enforcement decides to slack off, someone's gotta take the responsibility."_

_"That's right," Brent added in, stepping towards Ryan. "We're the ones filling the empty space. Giving justice to the families of the deceased, and all... It was my call from the beginning." He grinned triumphantly, only for Sara to roll her eyes._

_"We_ all _have the same goal as you, Brent. You're just the one who rounded us up into a makeshift gang."_

 _"Not gang," he corrected. "We're an_ organization. _Gang would hint that we're doing something illegal."_

_"Technically, we are. But it's a good type of illegal, so we just ignore that part." She cast a playful smile towards Ryan, who returned it with a laugh. The short and spunky girl had charmed him immediately, and he couldn't wait to get to know her. They had the whole day ahead of them, after all._

_"Alright, you rowdy sheik's. Get out of my examining room, unless you want me to drop this case and make the other fellas take care of it."_

_The rest of the day, Sara taught Ryan about her work, what she'd picked up on the current case, and even treated him to a drink. In return, Ryan felt immediately welcomed as her friend, and when Brent dropped him off back at the slums, she winked from the backseat and waved as the detective sped off._

 

It's all still quite vivid in Ryan's memory. Slowly, though, it becomes a foggy blur, as his eyes flutter shut and he falls back into a blissful sleep, lulled by the comfort of his dingy mattress and the darkness of his closed lids.

 

\- 

 

Once Ryan is awake, the sun is already high in the sky, and the light from it streams through his thin curtains and onto the creaky wooden floorboards. He dresses slowly, in no rush, since his work hours are only at night; however his growling stomach causes him to move a bit faster, the familiar ache in his abdomen making him sigh. He looked in his top dresser drawer only to have a half load of bread, cracked and stale underneath his clothes. Deciding to save it, in case he couldn't eat anything else today, he shut the drawer and hastily made his way outside, down the steps and into the street. 

The first one to approach him was none other than Jen, and she seemed less then happy with something.  
"Ryan Bergara- don't you think you've been spending too much time with that makeshift detective?"

"Good morning to you too, Jen." 

The shorter women crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "It's noon."

"What, and you've been awake? You look like you just rolled out of bed." Ryan eyed her messy short hair, and the bags under he eyes.

"Can't roll out of a space that big when there's four other people sleeping with you. We're packed like sardines, I'd say you're lucky I haven't come crashed at your place yet. Now stop avoiding my rant. Where do you run off to, every other day with that shady guy?"

"Shady...?" Ryan laughed at that. "If Brent is anything, it's definitely not shady. More like gawky."

"Oh, so he's Brent? Not "Mister Bennet"? Jesus, you're on a first term basis now. What does that guy even _do?_ Is he an actual detective, or does he just play dress up and run around like a crime fighter during the day?"

"Jen, really. He's a simple man, and all he's doing is showing me what he does for a living. Which, yes, is solving crimes. Murder, even."

Jen groaned, and rolled her eyes so far up they probably ached from it. "You say that like it's supposed to impress me. You know Jim Willis, the bony looking guy who sits outside my place?" It was Ryan's turn to roll his eyes. "He died sometime last night and was just laying on the street like a fish on a boardwalk. Kids were throwing stones at him and poking him with sticks! It was fucking annoying, honestly."

"Jen, I love you, but you're getting worked up over nothing." 

She finally looked at Ryan, actually looked at him, and shut her eyes to take a deep breath. Visibly, she seemed to calm down, but Ryan didn't know if internally she was just as fine. 

"Where did you go then?"

"Ah, I was meeting Brent's acquaintance. The most important one who works for him..." He shifted uncomfortably under Jen's glaring gaze before chuckling to himself. 

"What- why are you laughing?"

"Nothing. I just think... you'll like the girl I met yesterday. She's a real Bearcat." 

"Is she single?" His friends immediate and excited response made Ryan double over in laughter, and he shook his head.

"God, like I'm supposed to know? You hopped right onto that, Jen!"

"Well...! You piqued my interest!"

"Of course you're interested once a woman's involved."

"And you're not? Oh, right, you're too busy sucking Brent's dick to-"

The sound of a car horn honking diverted their attention, and Ryan flushed when he saw it was just the man they were talking about- _as if it'd be anyone else,_ he tells himself.  
Ryan turned to face Jen before taking a step away, before she could stop him or make a scene.

"Well, duty calls, Jenny!"

"Don't call me Jenny! You better come back before dawn!"

Ryan rushed to the passenger side of the sleek black vehicle, and called back to his friend with a laugh. "No promises!"

As the car started to speed away, Ryan heard her shout one last remark. "And update me on that Bearcat situation!"

"Bearcat?" Brent snickered and smiled at Ryan, grinning just as brightly. "You're talking about Sara, aren't you?"

"Oh, what gave it away?"

Brent only smiled and shook his head. "Duty calls, that's what you said before leaving, right?" Ryan's smile dropped slightly. "...Does that mean you're one of us now?"

Was he? Ryan enjoyed every moment he could spend with Brent and his crew of do-gooders. The only bad experience thus far was seeing the dead body of one of his clients, but that was to be expected. He could handle death, as decently as anyone growing up in this environment, but not only that; he truly _was_ interested in this case. Now even more so that it concerns someone that he knew (somewhat). And in the back of his head, he thought that maybe he could get used to this life.

"...You obviously don't have to answer right away," Brent piped in, once Ryan's pause became too long. "But I would love to have you join us. You're sharp, as well as supportive, and I feel like you'd be a great asset to this team. If you ever are interested in joining officially... just let me know."

The soft smile reflected sadness in Brent's eyes, and some sort of masked disappoint that made Ryan sigh. Of course, he would consider it. But he didn't know if he was doing it for the right reasons.

\- 

They arrived at Brent's "agency", a little run down building with two stories and a very cluttered interior. The inside was cramped full of _things,_ a giant wooden desk pulled up against another smaller table to add more surface space; and both were covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and written papers, like journal entries. A typewriter sat on Brent's desk, as well as plenty of other necessities. A few coffee mugs, a portable ice chest, a fan, a pencil holder, a basket of... small... things... Necessities.

Crumpled paper littered the floor around the desks as well. As Ryan observed it all, one of Brent's coworkers came in from another room, holding stacks of papers to his chest. It was the bright-eyed one with the skittish personality.

"Bennett..! I finally, um. I typed up the info we got on Lee Yang's tenant members, but none of them seemed suspicious."

"I'll look into it." Brent waved his hand dismissively and nodded his head towards Ryan. "Come, I'll make some coffee, so get yourself settled in. Today we aren't doing much, just waiting for Sara to come and type her written findings-"

Almost as if she was summoned, the short haired woman burst through the door and quickly shut it behind her. She was trembling, her breathing rapid and her eyes wide in fear. Trying to compose herself, she covered her face and slid into a chair by the door, away from the only window in the room.

"...Sara?" Ryan cautiously came towards her, unsure of how to react. The other two men exchanged glances, and one ran to the room to grab Sara a cup of water while the other snagged a pen and paper.

"Sara, shh, what in the hell happened? What's going on?" Brent's voice was gentle but firm, trying to soothe his friend while also aching for answers. Both he and Ryan noticed her eyes darting towards the window, and quickly scuttled to shut the blinds. Ryan peeked through them to see if anyone had followed the terrified girl here, but he saw no one. The street was empty.

"I just... I ran here..." Sara took a deep, shuddering breath. The younger male came back with a full glass of ice water, and she gulped it fast as sweat beat down her forehead.

"You _ran_ here? It's so far, how-"

"There was a man. In my house. I saw him watching me from the other room while I was getting ready to go out."

Ryan heart began to thud against his chest. The very thought of an intruder stalking someone in their own home made him shiver.

"H-How? Sara, that's... That's fucking terrifying-"

"I know." She spoke so fast that her voice began to crack. "He was fucking giant, too. I didn't get a good look at him because I was too busy hauling ass, trying not to get killed-"

"Did he attack you?!" Brent suddenly yelled, and in his concern for her he grew intense and stiff, although his expression relaxed somewhat when Sara shook her head. He turned and slapped the paper he was holding against the nearest flat surface and began writing frantically, the date, the time, the incident.

Ryan finally approached Sara and took her shaking damp hand into his. His attempts to calm her down seemed to work somewhat as she took slower gulps of water and began to take deep breaths. 

"...I don't... I don't know how he got in. I don't know how long he's been there. My heart still feels like it's about to burst out of my chest."

"You can stay here until we make sure you're safe, Sara." Brent replied. "I'll send a squad over to your house to check every room, every closet, every surrounding area until we see he's gone. There's no need to worry."

Relief washed over both Ryan and Sara, her grip loosening in his hand.

 

\- 

There was nobody at her house.

As the day began to end and the sky turned a light to dark purple, armed men were still parading her property in search for any evidence of how the intruder entered her home.

"You don't think he targeted Sara because she's working on this case, do you?" Ryan asked Brent quietly, as they both watched the men work from outside on the street corner. 

"It's very possible. I'm going to keep a couple guys here over night, just in case the freak decides to come back." Brent's voice was also quiet, if they were afraid of anyone eves dropping. "You'll soon learn, Ryan... Nobody messes with the people under my care without me interfering. I can assure that much."

"Oh, it's already obvious." Ryan's voice softened without him meaning to, sincere in each word he spoke as he looked at Brent's serious expression. "You're doing everything you can to ensure Sara's safety. You're a just man through and through, Brent."

The detectives expression froze and then relaxed, after the initial shock of Ryan's words. The furrow of his brow disappeared and was replaced with a gentle smile.

"...I'll make sure you're safe, too. It's the first time one of our members have been targeted like this, and we still don't know why. But no matter what, I'll help..."

"In anyway you can."

"Of course. ...I'll tell the boys what's going on, and then I'll take you home. It's been a stressful day."

Ryan agreed. He watched as the sun began to dip below the cityscape horizon, and felt a chill down his spine at the thought, that maybe the man who watched Sara had his eyes on them this very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god there goes that disaster lmao. 
> 
> tell me what you think so far!! i hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case becomes personal, in a way Ryan can't explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO OKAY IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE, i dropped off the face of the earth for a while and im struggling to get my writing mojo back. I hope it was worth the wait.

_She saw me._

_I don't think she saw my face specifically, but. I'm afraid._

_I'm fine, it's okay. It's just one person._

_She's not a threat._

 

\- 

 

At about four in the morning, Ryan woke up with a shout to the sound of someone pounding on his door. His heart raced in his chest at the sudden eruption of his sleep, his mind still fuzzy as he processed the voice calling for him on the other side.

"Wake up, doofus. That gumshoe Brent is trying to find you!"

The frazzled man quickly dressed and ate - a bit of fruit he had saved up - and sprint down the wobbily stairs behind Jen. His excitement shown off his face like sunshine, as he forced himself awake in order to meet the man that changed his boring, everyday life. 

Yet, Ryan couldn't predict what would happen today. And he especially didn't expect another familiar face to appear behind the dreaded white sheets of the most recent victim.

_Around one or two in the morning, Ryan shut the book he was reading once he heard a knock on his door._

_He quickly threw on a button up and pants, in case he had to greet someone not looking for sex - but when he opened the door he was face to face with someone who smelled heavily of pricey cologne and alcohol._

_The stranger's blonde hair was sticking out at funny angles, like he's been running his hands through it; his fairly expensive looking suit was ruffled and unbuttoned. The patterned tie he wore hung loosely around his neck, and his pocket square seemed to be missing from his jacket. With such neat attire, this man looked like a downright wreck, and it didn't suit him at all._

_Ryan asked the drunkard quietly, "Can I help you?" only to get a strange face in response. The blonde swayed where he stood and blinked hard a few times._

_"I'm... a 'lil, um... I was dr... On..."_

_...Ryan raised his brows, waiting for him to continue._

_"You had alcohol?"_

_The man snapped his fingers and his eyes widened, pointing at Ryan like a lightbulb just went off in his head._

_"Giggle water! At... Speakeasy."_

_He rubbed his eyes and shifted his weight on either foot a couple of times. He kept his head downturned, as if too nervous to look at the other man's face.  
Ryan knew at this point that he was going to get nowhere with him as long as he stood here silently, so he gently grabbing the stranger by the arm and guided him inside, shutting the door behind them._

_-_

_This man was not from around here, a foreigner to these parts, and what gave it away was not only his way of dress but also his reaction to Ryan's one-roomed home._

_"Hoooly, sh... shitt, is this where you live, buddy? Wooow."_

_He seemed to gaze at everything briefly through bleary red eyes, the intense crimson light not helping his sight much as he stumbled around quite slowly.  
Ryan allowed him to explore for a few moments, before finally stepping close to speak to the well dressed stranger._

_"Sir... Do you know where you are?"_

_The man stopped and stood still, facing the balcony which was draped in a thin white curtain. He was uneasy, seen in the way his relaxed shoulders began to shake and his jaw hung open with a pained look on his face._

_"...Yes. I do."_

_In the past, Ryan had gotten visits from drunk people, people high on heroine or morphine, but never really people from the other side of the city, fancy clothes and all. They were usually disguised to look like a "commoner," while playing around in the slums like they were on vacation, or paying for women who lived in much nicer housing and wore much nicer lingerie. This particular visit was unusual... But not unheard of.  
The man's voice was steadier, but not calm. A hint of anxiety on the edge of his voice was very prominent, open, in his weary state it seemed most obvious. Ryan took a step forward to touch his padded shoulder, hesitantly._

_"What are you here for? Sir."_

_The man took a shaky breath and turned his head towards Ryan, but did not focus his eyes on his face. Averting them, once again, out of embarrassment or shame. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked._

_"I came here to... Forget something."_

_Ryan knew that feeling all too well._

_Meeting the watery eyes of the trembling man before him, he gently took the strangers hands in his own and placed them on his hips._

_-_

_The man was too drunk to be able to navigate himself, so Ryan had to ride him._

_Part of him always felt a bit guilty when he took customers who were intoxicated, under the influence. He felt like full consent could never be given after having too much booze, but he had to do what he had to to get money. As terrible as it sounds, the regrets the other party will feel later are none of his concern._

_To make it easy for them both, all Ryan did as means of undress was settle the other man down onto his back and then unbutton his slacks, pulling his cock out without removing any clothing, save for his own pants.  
He wrapped his lips around him in a quick blowjob, feeling the blonde harden and pulse softly in his mouth while he prepared himself as well. He pulled away with a wet pop, hearing the other groan, and steadied himself as he stradled the man's hips._

_Before Ryan could insert the hard length into his body, he caught himself staring at the other mess of a man; looking for some sort of reaction, some look that said to go on, or to stop. All he got was a glazed look, trembling lips, and tearful eyes. Then a slow nod._

_He slid down onto him with a silent gasp, used to these sensations already. The other man was much more vocal.  
Rocking his hips in a fluid motion he was rather good at, along with the intoxication affecting his client's brain and body, made it a quick session with this particular person._

_He was loud, moans almost sounding pained as the feeling of being ridden so intensely shaked his body and the bed which he laid, and when he finished he threw his head back with a long groan that Ryan could feel vibrate through the hands he had placed on his chest. Then he was limp, trembling underneath Ryan with shaky breaths puffing through parted lips and eyes wide, unfocused, staring at the ceiling above._

_Ryan slid off of him and laid beside the client to give him space, which he felt he may have needed given the situation. But after a few quiet minutes, he felt unsteady arms wrap around his body, and the other man's face pressed into his collar bone._

_His body trembled fiercely as Ryan held him in return. And if the beautiful wreck of a stranger cried in his arms that night, he was in no way able to judge, and did all he could to be a silent source of comfort for this forlorn man, who stumbled blindly towards a hooker late into the night._

 

\- 

 

Ryan never did find out why that man was crying. But as he met the tearful eyes of a beautiful widow, sobbing before him as the body of her late husband laid between the two, draped in the tell-tale white blanket; he now understood.

His stomach churned as he watched Brent try and talk to her, her eyes dark and downcast, emotionless, the redness of her eyes and the blotches of color on her cheeks showing true sorrow. Her thin frame was wrapped in an expensive silk robe, her messy blonde hair falling past her shoulders, a beautiful girl, despite the horrible situation at hand.

"Miss Fulmer, what time did you find your husband's body?"

The woman, named Ariel, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath before she began speaking. Her response was rather fast, as if wanting everything to be over with. To end it all and wake up from this dream.

"Around five this morning. I woke up to some rattling, and thought the maid was making breakfast. Then I came downstairs and saw him."

"Was your maid in the room or near the crime scene when you found him?"

Ariel quickly shook her head, her golden hair swaying and bouncing on her shoulders. "No, no... She was upstairs doing a routine check in the guest bedrooms. I called for her once I saw him, but she was so devastated, that she ran to her room after calling the police."

"Hm." Brent pursed his lips as he jotted the information down. "What type of relationship did your husband have with the house workers?"

"We only have the maid, Helen. She's very fond of Ned, so that... must be why she was so shocked to see him." Ariel paused, taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes. Composing herself.  
"Ned always... treated her kindly. He does... did, with all of the staff we've hired in the past. He treated them like people, like friends. So Helen not only lost a valuable boss, but a cherished acquaintance. And I lost my husband."

Ryan's throat felt like it was on fire.

"I understand. We'll have to speak to her as well. Did your husband have any enemies?"

The woman's brow furrowed at this particular question, and she soon after shook her head to dismiss it. "No, never. He was always supportive, to everyone he met. A bit competitive in business, but he got along... with everyone, just fine." 

There was a surprising bitterness at the end of that sentence. Ryan could feel the way it stung the air like venom, and he felt himself unconsciously trained on Mrs. Fulmer, trying to read between her pages like a book, unravel a story she hasn't quite told. Even Brent seemed to hault the movement of his pencil, but he could be thinking of other problems as well.

"Do... you know where your husband was last night?" 

"With his subordinates. He told me he wouldn't be home until late, since it was a big party to feed with lots to discuss."

That was a lie. And the only one alive in the room who knew it to be one was Ryan. He swallowed thickly, the knot in his throat making it hard to breathe as the weight of truth made his shoulders heavy. He felt like collapsing, as if the easier solution was to lay beside the corpse and let everything else fade away. 

Ned Fulmer, business extraordinaire, young in his field and a kind soul through and through; competitive and passionate, with a loving wife and a two month old baby girl, a good housemaid, and with plenty of money. Found dead, in the comforts of his own home. Nothing of value was stolen, except for Neds' life.

Brent already confirmed how he died; Fulmer was killed with an axe, a blow to the side of his neck seemingly knocking him down with the way his body splayed across the floor. Then a flurry of movement; a slash to the hip, a gash into his ribcage, and a final blow to his stomach. Blood was seeping out of the body and spread across the floor in pools of red and black, speckles of it flicked across the room with the movement of the axe, leaving the haunting color sparkling like rubies on the surrounding marble and furniture. 

At this point, Ryan couldn't bear to look anymore. He turned away, and made a beeline to the stairs, looking for anywhere to hide, trying to make sense of what was happening to him.

"Ryan..? Are you okay?"

"I'm going to- to question the maid. I'll be right back."

Ariel and Brent's eyes followed him up the elegant spiraled staircase, their expressions heavy on his shoulders as if their gaze alone weighed him down. Attempting to shake the feeling, Ryan located the maid inside of her room, at the end of the hallway.

Black hair hid her face as she stared down into her lap, sniffling quietly and fumbling with her apron. Startled by Ryan's presence, she quickly looked up and wiped her damp cheeks. Beautiful eyes, a rounded face; how unfortunate that it's covered in tears, Ryan thought.

"Hello...?" 

"Hi, are you Helen?" Making sure his voice was gentle, soft, Ryan sat opposite of her in a fancy ornate chair.

"I am... Who are you?" Her attempts to compose herself were expert level; voice steadying easily, her posture changing to be more formal. It's as if she was trained to be professional despite hardships... As a maid, it made sense, but-

"I'm Ryan Bergara... Here with the detective to try and solve Mister Fulmer's murder. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Helen shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "The loss... isn't mine. It's Ariel's. It's hers, and their baby girl's... I appreciate your sentiment, but Ned was no more than a good friend and boss to me. You should save your words for Miss Fulmer, they will mean more to her..." 

Ryan's hands moved on their own, reaching forward to hold onto Helen's own in a comforting gesture. "Nobody deserves to lose a friend. Your grievances are just as important as Ariel's are."

He hoped that the words came out sincere, and when the maid leaned over, Helen's eyes welled with tears, he held her in his arms. It was a feeling that was reoccurring; many times in the darkest of nights, he would hold Jen just like this, as well as his other fellow workers. 

The suffering that they all felt, a mutual agony, he now bore all of it, along with the tears that were shed from Ned Fulmer's murder.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry that this is uuuh really short?? I'm trying to get into the swing of things again!! i love u guys!!


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